


Presentation

by roseprice612



Series: humanity is for robots, too [5]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Father Figures, anxiety disguised as a malfunction, more father son bonding, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 11:19:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15338739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseprice612/pseuds/roseprice612
Summary: Connor is different than other Androids. Whether that's good or bad is up to him.The rally is coming up quick, so naturally, Connor has second thoughts. Hank supports him like the dad he is.





	Presentation

**Author's Note:**

> Heyy I'm back! I think it's been like over a month since I've posted on here, that's embarrassing :/ 
> 
> I seemed to have lost some of my motivation in writing this, but it's back now! Pretty much all thanks to dbh fanart to be honest, so any creators out there - thanks for the inspiration :)
> 
> Enjoy!

It was midnight Wednesday night. All the lights were off, most of the house was asleep, and the street light outside flickered on and off. And there Connor sat, scribbling away in his notebook.

Writing felt... wrong. Everything he ever recorded was in internal hard drives and his long-term memory. So unlike other Androids, Connor's handwriting was actually quite messy. He was designed for one single purpose, so a lot of the time he was at a loss for simple, everyday skills - how to act in social situations, writing, determining creativity. He didn't often have conversations with people other than Hank and Markus, he never had the need to write, and the sculptures in the Central Park made zero sense to him.

He was probably supposed to be sleeping. Or at least idling. But every time he closed his eyes he remembered that open file, "to write down - emotion", and he had no choice but to rifle through it and transfer it down to paper.

He'd just been finishing describing sorrow when his brain did that strange thing it'd done for as long as he can remember. For a moment, the room was scanned, a thousand details jumped out at once, and lights flashed around his peripherals. Internally, memories blinked past like a rapid-fire slideshow, too quick for a single one to be grasped.

The first one he could explain; recalibration. The second one he couldn't. It wasn't recalibration, since there wasn't a scan or check-in. It was just memories blasting through his front thoughts. And it almost always left him struggling to keep a foothold in his own mind, grappling for the controls. He took hold again when the memories faded, easily catching himself without the distraction.

His pen had fallen to the ground, and he'd hunched over the notebook, panting without strained lungs to fill. He, as always, initiated a system scan, but, as always, there was nothing. He just couldn't understand it. There was no diagnosis to be made, no malfunction present. It just... happened.

He hated the feeling of that the most. His fingers shook as he flipped to the next page, and he could barely hold the pen as he scribbled down the feeling. The silence pulsed around his ears, the pressure weighing down on his shoulders until he had to drop the pen again and curl around his stomach. Why was this so debilitating? Why couldn't he even think straight?

He stood too quickly, sending the pen and paper flying off his lap and the coffee table rattling with all the glasses and plates on it. He had to get air. Be able to breathe.

So he stepped around the coffee table and the couch, and Sumo asleep on the floor, and wobbled to the door. He didn't waste another moment to swing it open and slip outside, ignoring Sumo's bark, and lean against the outside of the house.

Everything felt fuzzy, outside his head like he was watching from above. It was a strange experience, different from feeling so closed off to everything like he had inside. Maybe it was the open air. He hoped he'd be able to breathe and clear his mind, but being out there sent the discomfort to his stomach and hands, twisting his gut and leaving his fingers tingling.

He had to talk to someone. Anyone. But Hank was asleep, and Markus was... did Markus even want to see him again? So then who the hell could he talk to? Who else was there? He had about two friends, and one of them hated him.

Connor dropped to the ground, resting his back against the house while he tipped his head back and peered at the stars. Maybe he'd just have to deal with this himself. Maybe he'd just have to suck it up and suffer alone, the same way he had for the long year of his life stuck behind shields of roboticism.

"...Connor?"

Connor shot forward, turning and staring up to his right. It was Hank. He had a bottle of scotch (65% alcohol content) in his hand, and had clearly woken up just a few minutes ago. His hair was scraggly and his clothes were wrinkled.

"I thought you were sleeping," Connor scooted over for Hank to sit, and stared at the scotch as he took a long swig.

"I was." He huffed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Until Sumo started going nuts and I saw you outside, sitting alone. What's wrong?"

"Why do you always assume something is wrong when I sit alone?" Connor raised his eyebrows and tipped his head to the side.

"Because there always is with you." Hank took another swig and turned, looking Connor up and down. "Wasn't hard to guess. Look at yourself."

Subconsciously, Connor did a scan. Then he realized Hank meant physically, and lowered his head to look himself over. He didn't see anything wrong, but he guessed Hank was talking about the old, moth-bitten sweatshirt he wore. "You gave this to me. If anything, this is your fault."

Hank actually let out a laugh at that, stopping himself by sipping the scotch. "Hey, you wanted it."

He did. It said 'Detroit Police' on it. But Connor didn't have a reply for him, so he leaned back on the house again and peered up at the stars. That restless feeling still thrashed and squirmed within him, but at least he had the comfort of Hank next to him. Another moment passed before either of them said anything, Hank periodically taking a swig from the scotch. Connor wished he'd stop drinking, but maybe he was in a similar position as Connor. Maybe he wanted to dull out all feeling.

"Why did you come out here?" Hank said finally, his words slurring at the end. Connor sighed and rolled his head to address Hank.

"I needed some air."

Hank scoffed and crossed his legs out in front of him. "You don't need air. You're a damn robot."

Connor turned back to the stars and didn't answer. What was there to say? For a minute Connor had to sit there and organize his thoughts into something coherent, something that would make any bit of sense. "To be honest..." He started, not looking at Hank but seeing Hank turn to him. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm terrified about the rally."

Hank nodded and took a considerably large gulp of scotch. Maybe he was terrified too. "It was stupid of Markus to tell you to go. I still don't think you should."

"I have to," Connor said, adamant. "I need to show the world I won't back down at any bad rumors. Even if they are mostly true."

The reminder that Connor had attacked Hank came crashing back, and he had to bend over his knees and pause to push it aside. Still, it resided in his thoughts, swirling through the other anxieties about the rally. Hank noticed but didn't say anything for a minute or so, observing him instead.

"What is it now?" He asked, but his voice was surprisingly soft. "Something else is wrong."

"I attacked you." Connor spat out the words as if they'd leave his mind if he spoke them. "I don't know what I would do if I hurt you."

"You didn't." Hank insisted, suddenly realizing this was important to Connor. "You took me to the ground and that's it. The people in the clinic were on you in seconds."

Connor took another moment to clear his mind before getting to his feet. He couldn't sit anymore. Sumo was sitting in the open doorway, staring him down with his droopy eyes. Connor looked back to Hank.

"I'm going to go to the rally." He said, definitive. "But I want you to come with me."

Hank groaned and got to his feet too. "Fine. Now go inside and get some sleep or something, we have a long day tomorrow."

Hank was already inside, Sumo following behind him, but Connor remembered something else and ran in after them. "Hank! Hank, wait a minute-" He shut the door behind him and grabbed the fallen pen and pad. "I want to- can you label these emotions?"

The fridge clinked around with bottles and jars, and Hank took a minute to move stuff around. Then he stood straight and faced Connor, finally registering what he'd said. "Oh. Uh, sure. What do you have?"

Connor looked down at the first one on the list. "When I was attacked by the Androids. When they tried to rip out the LED."

"Uh, really?" Hank shut the fridge and walked over. "Fear. You know this. You said you've felt scared before."

He was right. Connor remembered when he'd caught Simon on the roof, right before he'd shot himself in the head. It was the worst feeling he'd ever felt, and he wasn't even deviant then.

"Next one?" Hank asked, taking a seat on the couch. He seemed to be staying there for a while, so Connor sat beside him and handed over his list. Hank looked it over seriously and scoffed at the end of it.

"What is it?" Connor panicked. "Something is wrong?"

"No." Hank chuckled. "This one here, when you were getting that knife taken out of you - you're right, it's dread. But later when you write about leaving and seeing your friends..." He shook his head with a smile on his face. "You were proud. Glad you have the friends you do."

Connor thought about that, smiling too at the idea of having friends. Then he remembered Markus' talk with him, and how angry Jericho must be at him, and lost the feeling entirely.

"They hate me now," Connor whispered into the air, voice crackling. Hank sighed and turned to him.

"I never got the chance to have a teenager, but wow." Hank was smirking crookedly, the way he did when he was genuinely amused. "You're seriously worried about that? As much as you sound like a dramatic teen, it really isn't that serious. You'll see everyone tomorrow, and everything will be fine."

Hank got to his feet, and Connor's heart leaped up nervously. Was he leaving so soon? "Look, kid, I'll be there with you." A thick hand came down to ruffle Connor's hair, and at that he at least managed a small smile. "Now go to sleep. Or shutdown or whatever, I don't know what you Androids do. You'll feel better in the morning, I promise."

Hank left without another word, and as Connor turned to watch him go he lifted a hand and waved backwardly. Then the door to his bedroom shut and Connor was left in the dark again. He powered down before any more anxious thoughts could get to him.


End file.
